


Traitor's Gate

by 00QEros (Dassandre)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Feelings, M/M, Regret, Though it be not to be talked of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/00QEros
Summary: “Right.”  Q nodded, screwing up his courage for this long overdue conversation that men like they simply didn’t have, and they were going to have it outside, at half one in the morning, in the middle of sodding winter.





	Traitor's Gate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



> Distractions ...
> 
>  
> 
> This has been neither betaed nor Brit-picked. All mistakes are my own.

“I’ve always felt that this is one of the loveliest sights in London.  Especially this time of year with the fairy lights to complement the view.”

Q had scuffed the soles of his shoes against the pavement to announce his presence before he spoke and sat down on the wooden bench.  Though it was unlikely he’d actually startle the agent whose ability to always know what and who was around him was practically occult, there was no need to take unnecessary risks.

It was late, already past midnight when Q left his Branch in search of Trevelyan.  Well, ‘in search of’ was rather inaccurate. Q knew right well where he would find the wayward agent, and that he would likely sit on this particular bench until dawn if given the chance, so Q had taken his time, choosing to walk the three miles from Whitehall to the Bridge.  His own head needed a bit of clearing, too, after the unexpected events of the day.

Q pulled back the hood of his anorak and pressed his knit cap more securely around his ears with the palms of his hands.  It was a clear night but unusually cold, even for mid-December. Both his and Trevelyan’s breath puffed around them, each exhale lingering a heartbeat before evaporating in the crisp air.  Q looked at the reflection of the lights on the otherwise aphotic water of the river and at the stark contrast of Tower Bridge against the surrounding darkness, then glanced over his shoulder at the ancient tower that had stood as a sentinel through the centuries.

“Traitors’ Gate,” Q humphed quietly at the sight. “I’d like to say that of all the benches from which you could choose, _this_ one’s a bit dramatic, but given the circumstances …”   

Alec didn’t respond, but then Q didn’t really expect him to.  They sat in silence next to one another, Q noting the holiday-heavy pedestrian traffic of people heading home from the clubs or after a long-running festive gathering with friends and family, judging how pissed they were based on how often they stumbled on the pavement or knocked into their companions.   He could only imagine what Alec saw: his eyes saw everything. Threats, certainly. Potential ones at any rate. Who amongst the masses posed the next danger to Queen and Country, to MI6 … to its Quartermaster?

A lone and lonely cloud that hadn’t even been on the horizon when he first sat down hid the sliver of the moon from view when Q eventually spoke again.

“Thank you.  For saving my life.”  Q felt Alec’s eyes settle on him, physically acknowledging Q’s presence for the first time.  “Can’t have been easy, that. She was a friend.”

“She tried to put a bullet through your head, Q.  Not really the done thing between _friends_ ,”  Trevelyan growled.

“No.  No, I suppose not.”  Q replied, brow furrowing as he considered, yet again, the events of the evening.  He pressed his palms to his knees, fingernails pulling at the wool of his checked trousers.  “It’s all rather … vexing.”

“ _Vexing_?!”  Alec spun on the bench to face him, exasperation clear on his face.  “You little shite! Bit of an understatement, don’t you think?! Have you always done that, and I never twigged on, or is this a recent development?”

Q started at the invective. He wasn’t offended, but Alec hadn’t called him ‘little shite’ in a very long time.  When he’d been 006’s handler, Trevelyan had referred to him as such often enough on comms that it had become something of a term of endearment.  Woefully unprofessional though it was.

Neither of them had cared.

Q’d not heard it in nearly two years, and doing so now made his heart jump with appreciation even as he noted a slight melancholy that accompanied acknowledging the term’s absence from his life for so long.  He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed it.

“No.  It’s not recent,” Q said, swallowing back the unexpected emotions.  There were just too many of those tonight for him to deal with. “Typically with a situation that’s proven dangerous to me personally, I suppose.  Happened in Austria. Turin. Kingston--”

“Why they let you go out into the field --”

“ -- it _allows_ me to compartmentalise until the adrenaline wears off,” Q continued, ignoring Alec’s interruption even though he agreed with him.  “Gives me time to sort it through. When I’m calm and focussed again. James finds it annoying.”

“He’s fuckin’ right.”  Alec huffed and pulled off his own watch cap.  He studied it in his hands before shoving it in the pocket of his peacoat.  “So are you?” he asked, looking at Q from beneath his fringe. The blond mass was as long as Q had ever seen it, and it needed cutting, but Q hoped that he wouldn’t.  It suited him. It _really_ suited him.

Q coughed and looked back at the water.  “Am I what?”

“Calm. Focussed.”

“God no!” Q’s snort of derision was followed by a nervous giggle and a quick glance at Trevelyan.  He pushed at the bridge of his spectacles with his forefinger. “I was nearly assassinated in the middle of my own branch by one of my closest friends who turned traitor for what amounts to as the cost of a townhouse in _Pimlico_.  It’s going to be a long while before ‘calm and focussed’ applies.”

“Good,” Trevelyan said before apparently realising how his response might have come across.  “No. I just mean that it’s good you’re not calm about it _yet_.”

The firm set of Alec’s jaw hinted at the real feelings that his tone intended to mask.  “Traitor or not, in the end, she _was_ your friend,” Q offered.  “She was your _handler_.”  

The importance of the relationship that developed between an agent and his or her mission lead could not be understated:  a successful mission with a living agent at the end of it depended on that intimacy. It was an understanding he and Alec had once shared ... before Q had shuffled agent assignments.

“Fuck that she was my handler.  R _was_ a traitor!”  Even in the dim light, Q saw Alec’s green eyes harden with fury and disgust.

And Q found he couldn’t disagree with him.  It stung. R’s betrayal. They’d known about a mole for months, but Mallory had kept that knowledge locked down to those he deemed essential to the mission to uncover the mole’s identity:  his Chief of Staff, Bill Tanner; the two Double-Os tasked with the mole’s apprehension, James Bond and Alec Trevelyan; and agents’ handlers, Q -- in his dual role as handler and Quartermaster --  and R.

Why they’d initially made so little progress in identifying the infiltrator was now clear.  Only a chance encounter -- read: interrogation session -- between Bond and a surprisingly chatty henchman in Belgrade had yielded the information exposing R.  And only the malfunctioning palm-coded grip -- calibrated only to an agent, Q, and his second -- on 008’s Sig Sauer kept R from blasting Q’s brains all over his monitors.

She was dead before she could think to use the K-BAR knife that had sat in the repair tray next to the Sig on Q’s workstation, shot through her treacherous heart by 006, just back from Trieste.  

Trevelyan’s palm-coded grip had worked perfectly.  

“It’s the ‘why’ of it all that’s so puzzling, I suppose,” Q said, acknowledging at least a portion of the confused jumble of emotions that plagued him.  “Mariam’s been with Six for over 20 years. Surely she’s not been a traitor all that time?” He was horrified at the mere notion.

“Don’t know yet.”  Alec settled back against the bench.  “Mallory seemed to think James pulled a fair amount of information out of that idiot in Serbia, but he hadn’t the time to share it all.  James’ first concern was in making sure _you_ were safe once it was determined you were a primary target. My arrival was just good timing.”

Bloody good timing.

“The enquiry is going to take at least a fortnight, to say nothing about the investigation to determine just what R managed to compromise.  I’ll be buried in paperwork for months.” Q pushed up his spectacles and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. Lord, he was tired.

“Better buried under files and forms than in the earth.”

The cut to Alec’s voice … Q’s settled his glasses back on his face so he could see.  Yes. It was there in his eyes, too.

Fear.  

Unexpected.  Alec Trevelyan didn’t _do_ fear, after all.  

Only one possible reason for it, Q … hoped?  

That Alec didn’t turn from Q’s assessing gaze nor steel his expression back into that mission impassiveness that all agents learned nursing at their trainer’s teat meant --

“Right.”  Q nodded, screwing up his own courage for this long overdue conversation that men like they simply _didn’t_ have.  That they were going to have it outside, at half one in the morning, in the middle of sodding winter--  “I fear I owe you an explanation, Alec. And an apology,” he said quickly before he could think too long about it.  He had thought too long on this for months now, ever since James had twigged on to feelings in Q -- ones Q had never been fully able to bury -- and indicated he would be entirely amenable to a more open arrangement should _Q_ wish to pursue it.   

“Apologise?  The fuck for?”

“Or maybe, actually … no.  Thank you. Instead. Yes. I should _thank_ you.  Again, that is.”

“Q, what are you--”

“For not asking me why I turned you over to another handler two years ago.  For not asking me why I gave you to R.”

A subtle tightening at the corners of Alec’s mouth was Q’s only physical cue that Alec knew exactly what topic was really up for discussion.  “You’re the Quartermaster. Figured you had your reasons. Wasn’t for me to question them,” Alec said with a shrug, eyes darting away.

Alec rose and walked toward the fence situated between the wide pavement and the drop to the river.  Q followed and stood close to Alec, more so than when they had been sat on the bench, and subconsciously mirrored the agent’s pose:  forearms propped on the metal railing, hands loosely gripped, eyes trained on the inky surface of the Thames.

“It _was_ your place ... to question,” Q said quietly, finally admitting to his cowardice at the time.  “Because it wasn’t the _Quartermaster_ who transferred you.  It wasn’t even Q. It was Kit.”

“Same thing.”

“You know bloody well they’re not!” Q snapped, irritated at the resignation he heard in Alec’s voice and hurt that Alec could believe-- yes, well, he only had himself to blame for that now, didn’t he?

“I _thought_ I did!”  Alec’s retort was equally clipped.  He turned from the River to face Q. “Look.  What do you want me to say? I always knew you were for him.  He for you. Always knew he’d come back. Made my own choices as far as you were concerned.  No one forced me into anything, but I’d hoped --” Alec cut himself off and turned back to the water.

That hope hung in the chilled air between them -- hurting.

“-- you’d choose me,” Alec finished some moments later.  

Q hadn’t thought it possible to feel worse about this situation than he had done for years.  Alec’s admission, sounding as though it had been dragged from a walled-off part of his heart, proved him quite wrong.  

“I had expected James to be as cavalier and self-absorbed as before, but he wasn’t.  Well, no. That’s not true. You know as well as I do he’s still an arse, but he’s different, too.  Was truly contrite. Remorseful. Repentant,” Q explained in a rush, as much so Alec could _finally_ understand as to get it out between them before Q lost his nerve. “There hadn’t been anything between James and me then, but I was hardly as circumspect in my regard for him as I could have been.  He knew I fancied him. Knew what he was doing when he left, and I had no intention of letting him get close again after what he did. Especially not given how things started to … change between you and me over those months. Nothing promised there either, but I knew how I felt about you.  Yet I still felt the same way about him though I tried not to.” Q shoved his hands into his hair, causing the knit cap to pop off his head and disappear over the railing. He was making a hash of this as he always knew he would, but he forged ahead. “And suddenly the thought of losing either, let alone _both_ , of you under my watch, it … well, it paralysed me.  James would have been a nightmare for any other handler.  That became my excuse, but I was lying to myself and it was grossly unfair to you.  I abused my position as Quartermaster to make a personal choice, and--”

“Q, it’s fine I get that--”

“No, it bloody well isn’t _fine_ , Alec!” Q’s shout echoed off the ancient stones of the Tower behind them.  “God I hate that word! Especially when either of you uses it,” he said gesturing at Alec and at the absent James who would be standing in the middle of the Thames if present.  “It’s used to brush away too many otherwise unforgivable sins. It’s not _fine_.”

The only thing that Q could take even the smallest degree of solace in was that he hadn’t jumped immediately into a relationship with James.  Bond had wooed him for months after his return. Though initially leery and mistrustful of the man, Bond’s courtship of Q -- amidst assignments that sent him to the four corners -- was so honest and heartfelt that Q eventually thawed.  He and James had been together for just over a year, and Q was happy with his life. Mostly. Save for the memories of how he had mistreated Alec and of his intense … regard for the man. Neither would stay fully buried.

So here they were.

“I was afraid,” Q said carefully.  Curious stares from nosy pedestrians -- tourists -- modulated Q’s tone, not that he ultimately gave two fucks.  “And because of that I made a poor choice that I didn’t think through, and I think through _everything_ .  I never even _considered_ talking to you about it because I _was_ afraid.  Then it was done, and things were even more awkward, and it was too late.  It was poorly done of me. No. More than that. It was _wrong_ of me.  I know you’ll never admit it, but I hurt you, and I am _sorry_ for that.”

Alec said nothing.  He stared. Just as he had done since the agonizingly awkward confession began to pour out all over the pavement like the pint of cider Q had spilled at The Stroppy Cockerel the night before.  

A sudden gust of wind from the west had Q shivering.  He hunkered down in his coat, wishing for his cap. Alec didn’t react to the chill and his penetrating stare didn’t falter.  It wasn’t acrimonious or threatening but it wasn’t encouraging or reassuring either.

It just was.

The seconds continued to tick by with no response to the admission and apology.  Q finally looked away, humiliated, but the darkness provided him no refuge: the lonely cloud had scuttled off on its way, and what had once been a feeble glow from the moon above was now a spotlight on Q and his shame.     

“Right,” Q said with a clap of his hands.  “Well, this has been one of the more emotionally damning days of my existence.  No need to ever repeat it. Once a lifetime is quite sufficient, I dare say.” He looked back up at Trevelyan.  Yes. It would be Trevelyan now.

“Barring an emergency requiring your particular skill set, M will likely take you off mission-ready status until after the initial enquiry is complete,” Q said, slipping into Quartermaster armour that no longer seemed to fit.  He’d never felt less like the Quartermaster than he did at this moment -- not even when he’d first taken on the role after Boothroyd’s death -- but he carried on. There was still a country and a Commonwealth to protect, after all.

“That will give me an opportunity to assign a new handler to you and Double-O Four.  Please inform me of any thoughts or preferences you may have on the matter, and I’ll do my best to accommodate your requests.”  Q turned to go, but stopped and looked back over his shoulder though he could no longer meet Trevelyan’s eyes. “The less said on this … personal matter the better, I think.  I’ve no intention to make this awkward for either of us. We’ve worked well enough these last two years, and I see no reason why that has to change. We’re both professionals.”  He clenched and released his hands once … twice … “Thank you again ... for saving my life tonight.”

It took nearly everything he had, but Q walked away with his back straight and his head held high.

An iron-tight grip encircled his wrist and hauled him back before he could take three steps.  

“What do you want?”  Alec demanded. He had pulled Q flush against his chest, pinioned wrist pressed tightly between them, though Q could break free if he wanted to.  The impassive look in Alec’s eyes was gone: the green burned hotly, but with anger or desire, Q could not tell.

“I’ve no standing to want _anything_.”  

“You’re fucking right about that, but you _will_ answer the question.”  The grip on his wrist tightened, and Q couldn’t have cared less if there were bruises left behind.  “What. Do. You. Want?” Alec growled.

“You!  Damn it!  I want you!” Q snapped, advancing until Alec was pressed into the railing along the river.  “ _And_ I want James.  I want it all.”   

Bitter with disgrace and desperate with need, Q’s voice was equally rough, his words coarse and common.  “I’m a greedy bastard, Alec. I want you in my life and in my bed. Right there. Next to James. I want to be in here,” he gripped the side of Alec’s face with his free hand, short nails scoring the tender skin behind his ear, “running you when you’re out of the country.”  Q thrust against Alec’s thigh. Primal. “I want you heavy and panting when you fuck into me here at home.” He ran his hand through Alec’s blond hair and pressed the pad of his thumb hard against his temple. “I want to be the only bloody thing you dream about. Waking or sleeping.  I want to be there when your nightmares hit. I want you with James. I want you without James. And I know I’ve long-since cocked it up, but still I want you for however long we have. I. Want. You!”

His breathing was ragged.  He was furious at the events that had led him here and at the emotions the day and night had pulled to the surface.  Q pushed away from Alec and would have fallen had he not gripped the front of Q’s anorak in his fist.

“Is that fucking clear enough?” Q demanded wearily once he had steadied himself again with a hand on Alec’s shoulder.  He was suddenly exhausted and desperate for home where he could nurse his shame in private. “Or is there another way I can manage to demean myself in front of you tonight?”   

Sudden.  Harsh. Demanding.  Such was the crash of Alec’s mouth on his.  

Q’s most vivid fantasies were pale caricatures to the raw desire that surged in him at the press of those firm lips.  Hot and biting, starved and needy, it was all he hadn’t fully realised he needed from Alec and yet everything he had ever wanted.  Q buried his hands in Alec’s shaggy hair and pulled him closer, frantic and desperate to get everything he could before Alec’s common sense returned and he was left with only the memory of this stolen moment.  Tongues stroked and hands wandered but eventually the intensity eased and Alec sipped the moan of distress from Q’s lips as he drew away.

“Please …” Q chased Alec’s lips.  

“Please what, you lil shite?” Alec pressed his question to the hinge of Q’s jaw, and the boffin’s legs nearly gave way when he felt teeth tug on the lobe of his ear a moment later.  

“Don’t stop.”  Q could beg. He was fine with that now.  What was one more blow to his pride when it was already in tatters?  “Don’t go.”

Alec had maneuvered him against the railing: Q felt the press of metal through the back of his coat, a coat that was also unzipped.  Alec had even pulled Q’s shirt tails from his trousers beneath his cardi and broad hands stroked the skin above the waistband. Calloused fingertips skimmed the sensitive flesh there and Q moaned again.  

This time Alec swallowed it whole.

“For a genius, you’re really quite thick,” Alec murmured against Q’s mouth between continued kisses.  He ground his hardening, denim-clad cock against Q’s hip and pulled him closer. “Does it feel like I’m going anywhere?”  

“Wait.”  Alec’s words finally penetrated Q’s high of sensation.  He opened his eyes and pulled back. The paved walk outside the Tower was all but deserted now else Q might flush at the notion of their passion being observed even though plenty had witnessed his earlier distress.   “You really aren’t, are you? Why?”

“And he’s back.”  Alec sighed but continued to hold Q loosely in the circle of his arms.  “You want me. Been waiting a fair piece for that.  I want you. That hasn’t changed.  Why would I go anywhere now?”

“But I-- I betrayed you.”

“No. You didn’t. You’re not Mariam, Q,” Alec said, pointedly.  “You’re no traitor.”

Q’s brow furrowed.  Suspicious and confused. This was the complete opposite of what he had expected.  In the hundreds of models generated from his human behavior prediction algorithm, only ten had hypothesised--  “You should be angrier than this.”

Alec’s huff of frustration stirred the curls of Q’s fringe.  “It’s been two years, Q.” Alec released him and zipped him back into his anorak.  Q crossed his arms over his chest, a bit indignant at being handled like a five-year-old, but his displeasure melted at the rare openness he saw in Alec’s eyes.  “Look. I’m not saying I wasn’t angry,” Alec clarified, cupping Q’s face in his hand. “Not saying part of me isn’t still, but I’d rather finally start living a life with you than dwell on everything that happened before.  Life’s too bloody short for a man like me to waste any more time than we already have done, yeah?”

As far as declarations went, it was blunt, unpolished, direct, honest, and the least romantic thing Q had ever heard.

It was Alec.  

It was perfect.

There was one final hurdle.  Q ran his fingers along the edge of the collar of Alec’s coat.  “James?”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“Of course you have.  Months ago, if I had to guess,”  Q could practically feel his eyes sprain with how hard he rolled him.  Typical Double-Os. Everything clandestine.

Alec shrugged.  “It’s been him and it’s been you.  It’s practical.”

This time it was Q’s bark of laughter that echoed off Traitor’s Gate.  On its heels followed the mellow, sonorous peals of Big Ben sounding through the cold night air:  two in the morning. The last of Q’s energy dissipated with the last toll of the hour.   It was time to go.

“I’d normally suggest we walk, but I’m knackered.  Taxi?” Q nodded down the river toward Tower Bridge where they stood the greatest chance of finding a late-night cabbie looking for a fare.   

“Where are we going?”  A slight, wry smile tugged at the corner of Alec’s mouth.

“Home.”  Q struggled to suppress his own grin.  “But then you knew that.”

Alec nodded and his smile exploded.  Infectious. “Yeah. I wanted to hear you say it, though.”  He kissed Q swiftly and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into his side:  keeping him warm, keeping him close. They turned to make their way down the pavement, and Alec whispered a kiss against Q’s temple.

“Come, Quartermaster.  Guide me home.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this little bit of fic.
> 
> Kudos are lovely, but comments are joy in a crunchy, text-based candy shell. They're better than chocolate, actually. Feed the author, please. :)


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